Leather and Lace
by Julia9
Summary: (Complete) My version of what happens after Buffy and Spike destroy the abandoned house in S6. Written in Buffy's POV


Thin beams of sunlight drift through the splintered floorboards and piles of rubble that surround us. Just enough to illuminate the destruction we're lying in the center of, casting away the shadows.  
  
Something's digging into my back and my ankle is throbbing with pain. Maybe I hit it when we fell..or sometime after that. There was a lot of time between falling through the floor and waking up right now, too long.  
  
I can feel Spike's eyes staring down and I keep my eyes shut.  
  
I'm not ready to look at him. I'll do anything to prolong the inevitable 'morning after' conversation. God why did I wake up? It was so nice to just forget for a while, to stop pretending that everything's perfect, to let someone love me for a while.  
  
Groaning quietly, I try to stretch out my muscles without moving too much. I'll never admit it out loud, but I could get used to this. Waking up in Spike's arms is so foreign but at the same time it feels perfectly natural.  
  
Almost the same instant that my eyelids flutter open, Spike drops his arms down to the floor. It hurts but at least now I know where we stand.  
  
Last night didn't mean a damn thing to him, it was just meaningless sex. I can deal with that. I can pretend I didn't feel anything when we touched.  
  
I'm good at that. Just call me Denial Buffy.  
  
I've been still for too long, Spike's going to notice something's off. Pushing myself away from him, I spring off the dusty floor, furiously wiping at the grimy dirt covering my face.  
  
Looking down at Spike, I roll my eyes, what a cocky bastard. He's still lying on the floor, sprawled out naked on his duster, the paleness of his skin accentuated by the buttery soft leather.  
  
I pull on my tank top before realizing that it's ripped in half. Dammit, that shirt was new too. Looking back over at Spike, I raise my eyebrows expectantly.  
  
"Would you put some clothes on?"  
  
What, was he expecting to get in another round before I left? Welcome back to reality, he set the tone for the morning; I'm just running with it. His mouth turns up in that arrogant smirk that I hate so much and he shakes his head slowly.  
  
"Not a chance luv." His voice is deliberately slow, seductive, and I hate myself for the way it makes me feel. All of the sudden I'm flustered, trembling and blushing bright red at the same time.  
  
I hate what he can do to me.  
  
His eyes glitter with amusement and he reaches out and pulls on my calf.  
  
I could fight him if I wanted to, but I don't. It's just easier to let him pull me onto his lap, easier to let his mouth capture mine in a demanding kiss, easier to lose myself in his arms.  
  
His kisses aren't sweet or reserved; they're bruising, demanded. I'll never tell him but I love how he kisses. After Willow's spell two years ago, all I could think about was his lips on mine. Spike pours every ounce of himself into his kisses, he doesn't hold anything back. Not like Angel who was always hesitant like he'd break me or Riley who had no idea how to use his tongue for anything but shoving it down my throat.  
  
Spike's different though, he knows how strong I am, how strong he is, how I need to be kissed. He knows how to reduce me to a pile of mushy emotions with a single look, knows what buttons to push and knows that I need to be loved thoroughly by someone who isn't afraid to lose control.  
  
Control, there's a funny word. I always thought that being the Slayer meant that I was the one in control. Except when it came to relationships, that's where my definition gets all screwy. I want to be in control but most guys have issues with that. I thought Spike was different and he is, to a point. He knows how to manipulate me in the most delicious ways and I'm glad that he's not completely chipped.  
  
But that's off topic, where the hell was I going with that, I mean I didn't even have a point there, did I? Damn wandering mind and damn Spike for kissing me like this.  
  
I break away from him, pulling my face back to suck in a deep gulp of air. He barely allows me any recovery time before his lips are on mine again, just as demanding as before. His hands tighten around my arms for an instant before one hand starts to bunch my leather skirt around my hips. The ripped edges of my lace top still hang loose over my camisole and for a minute all I can think about is that I'm wearing far too many clothes.  
  
My hands are clinging to his shoulders, trying desperately to stay above float in the turbulent sea of emotions. I'm drowning and he just keeps pulling me further into the darkness, away from the surface. A whimper escapes my throat and he pulls back a fraction of an inch to study my face, his hand still tracing the tight muscles of my calf.  
  
The first thing that ever struck me about Spike were his eyes. It's times like this that I wish I had all those poetic words he keeps stored in his brain, then maybe I could describe what a perfect color they are. To say that his eyes are blue means that I'd have to ignore the inky blackness when his angry, or the rich navy when we..had sex. And then there's the light and playful color, the sparkling sapphire blue that reduces every woman to a blabbering idiot with her mouth wide open.  
  
I can only describe his eyes this morning as stormy, the light sapphire crashing against the navy, his pupils huge in the dim light. He doesn't say anything, he just keeps his fingers underneath my chin so I can't look away.  
  
"What is this," he asks, his voice low and hoarse. I shake my head, too confused to answer. I don't know what he's talking about, hell at this point I didn't even realize we were talking.  
  
Do we have to talk? Can we not talk and pretend that this wasn't just the biggest mistake of my life? Can we just make believe that this actually meant something to you and that I'm not just a romantic idiot who fell for the unattainable guy yet again?  
  
"To you," he insists, "what is this?"  
  
A dozen different words go through my head, everything from crude to hopelessly romantic. I can't say any of them to Spike though, my mouth is determined not to form the syllables.  
  
His fingers tighten around my calf, fitting neatly into the groove formed by my tightened muscle. It's strange how such a bizarre source of pressure can feel so good.  
  
"Tell me," he insisted, but his voice isn't needy. He's not asking me, rather he's demanding an answer. Instead of pushing him away and running out of this house, I just stare at him.  
  
Who does he think he is? Pushes me away and then thinks that he can strong- arm me into opening up about my feelings. Arrogant son-of-a.  
  
His nose is against mine, our faces so close that I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Instead of being scared, I'm curious. I've never kissed him in game face before.  
  
Wonder what it would be like? Angel was always so careful to keep that side of himself away from me, but Spike isn't like his Grand-Sire.  
  
"Slayer."  
  
I shiver at the anger in his voice, the insistence that I tell him what he wants to know. I'm ready to tell him that it was nothing, just another notch in the headboard when it hits me. I don't want to lie anymore.  
  
"I don't know." Well that wasn't a total lie but it was the best bullshit answer I could come up with. Considering that the only thing separating me and Spike is my leather skirt, it's a wonder that I can even form a sentence.  
  
"Bollocks," he snaps, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching rapidly. He pushes me off his lap and stands up, towering above me. "You do know. Last night was a bloody revelation! Admit it!"  
  
I can't. I don't know how to tell him that I feel like I'm trapped on a speeding rollercoaster with no way to get off and no idea where I'm headed. I don't know whether I'm supposed to be furious with him for telling me that he loves me, or with myself for actually believing that Spike was more then just a vampire.  
  
"No. Spike, I can't."  
  
His expression softens a bit as he pulls on his jeans. That's why it was so easy to forget what an arrogant bastard he is, it's those little puppy-dog eyes that tug at my heart. Kneeling down in front of me, he hands me his purple button down, like some half-assed peace offering.  
  
Taking the shirt from him, I slide my arms through the sleeves. Some how last night I didn't notice that it was silk; expensive too, judging by the way it flutters around my body. Spike's eyes don't move from my face the entire time and I feel like I'm his prey, waiting for one of us to make the next move.  
  
"Try." His words are like a caress, as soft as silky as the shirt I'm wearing but with the promise of something more.  
  
"What was it to you?"  
  
Reverse psychology, that usually works on guys, right? Except Spike's not exactly an ordinary guy.  
  
His laughter breaks the silence, starling me with its harsh barking sound. Leaning closer, Spike drops his gaze down to my lips and then back to my eyes.  
  
"Last night was Heaven.or near as close as I remember."  
  
The honesty is not what I was expecting, and strangely I almost wish he'd said something vulgar and tasteless. Spike's not supposed to be all soul- baring; he doesn't even have a soul for God's sake.  
  
Shit. Now that he's said something it's my turn. And I still have no idea what to say.  
  
"Incredible."  
  
His eyes narrow and I hurry to continue before I lose the tiny thread of nerve I've been clinging to.  
  
"Last night was incredible, Spike."  
  
I wish I could say more but I don't know what to say or what he needs to hear. Sitting down amidst the rubble, he opens his arms to me and I crawl into them willingly. Resting my head against the place where his heart no longer beats, I look up at the scratches and hickeys that mar his alabaster complexion.  
  
They're my marks, I made them to stake my claim on him. But in the harsh sunlight they look primative and raw, indicative of last night. Not exactly the way I pictured our first time together, but with our tempers what else could our first time have been.  
  
"You should be getting home, your mates are probably worried."  
  
I snuggle against his chest, inwardly kicking myself for leaving Dawn alone but knowing that she's old enough to take care of herself for one night.  
  
"Don't want to move." My words are muffled against his skin but he can still understand me. Spike presses a kiss to the top of my hair and I smile against his firm pectoral muscle.  
  
"Go on now. No sense in you staying here as well." When did Spike become so concerned, so self-less? Strange what you find out about a person after sleeping with them. If anything I'm more attracted to him now then I was before. Way strange.  
  
Pressing my face in the curve of his neck, I pepper soft kisses over the bite marks there.  
  
"Come see me tonight," I ask between kisses.  
  
Spike's hands move from my waist to my hair, tangling the long curls even more.  
  
"Try and keep me away."  
  
Smiling against his neck, I tip my head towards his. He's possessive, not something I usually like but right now it works.  
  
Who would've thought? Right now, trapped in this perfect moment in our less then perfect world, we even work.  
  
Vampire and Slayer, take two. 


End file.
